Kicking sand into a black girl's fresh braids probably wasn't the best way to make friends for six-year-old Marshall Stone. In fact, that's how he found a rival.
Love Lewis has always disliked the boy that had her mother on a rampage when she came h...
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Too many thoughts flood my mind as I settle into Marshall's BMW, my vision still blurry with unshed tears and thighs cold against his leather seats.
I'm not sure how I got here. All I know is that something must've gone terribly wrong tonight and settled within me at the last minute.
Chris bombarding me obviously wasn't in my cards for the night so him showing up was less than a happy surprise. I was riding on the high of kissing Marshall and now I'm sat in his car, waiting in silence for him to input the address I told him and start the engine.
Him seeing me this vulnerable dissipated that joy and now I feel heavily unsettled.
Everything just happened so quickly. Me crying as Chris yelled at me because he came to spend time with me after careful thinking and walked in to witness me kissing Marshall. Marshall sticking up for me and placing himself in the way of conflict. Him absolutely wailing on Chris to the point that his usually white knuckles are red and skin slightly broken.
My hand twitches as a thought comes to mind. What would it feel like to hold his hand? Would his skin be soft or rough? Would he be warm or cold? Does he moisturize or does he use his complexion as an excuse for dry skin?
As awkward as I feel sitting in silence in this parked car, I'm thankful for the moment I get to catch my breath and think. My brain is foggy but the drama made a head start in sobering me up.
I purse my lips and rotate my phone in between my hands, "You didn't have to hit him."
Marshall says nothing, eyes focused on whatever tree is swaying in the wind outside of his windshield. He glances down at the phone resting on his thigh, "London would've killed me if I didn't defend you."
My heart pounds against my chest as I realize why he did it. I scoff. Of course, he didn't do it for me. He did it for his honor and because he knew word would get around to his bestie, my sibling, if he just stood by and watched me cry in the middle of a bar on a Thursday night.
One step forward, five steps back.
"Right." I say quietly. Now I'm even more confused and embarrassed about why he kissed me back. It was out of pity. Fuck. Part of me now regrets allowing myself to fall for whatever I thought this was going to be.
What did I even expect? That he'd drop me home and I'd thank him for being my Knight in Shining Armor and offer him a goodnight kiss? Am I that naive?
I even wonder if I'm the one saying the wrong thing. Shit, he doesn't owe me anything considering how I've been treating him but for a stupid moment, I thought I'd finally have my chance to see that he doesn't hate me either and I could apologize and we could start over.
My body turns away from him and toward the passenger door, eyes finding solace in anything that's not him. Except I can't because his signature scent is invading my senses.
